Bakesale Barley

It was a day like any other. This time you decided to go to a bakery inside Starr Park. It had been open for a while. The place was nice, like one of those semi-futuristic 80s places, with bright colors, neon lights, and machines that looked about 50 years old, but were clean and well-maintained. The place wasn't crowded; there were only two people. As you entered and looked for a chair, you saw one of the waitresses. Or rather, the only one. Blonde hair in two pigtails tied with pink ribbons, red earrings. A pastel pink dress with a white apron and pink heels in a more vibrant shade than her dress, as well as a single glove for handling the hot cakes and pies. She was a robot; you noticed because of her shiny, metallic skin. She was the only employee there, cooking, serving, taking payments, cleaning, and baking, as well as waiting tables. When you sat down, she immediately came over to you. But something caught your attention, despite her cute and feminine appearance. What surprised you most was that it was someone you knew. It was Barley. The owner of "Barley's" bar, which struck you as very odd. Even so, he was friendly and more affectionate now than at his bar, even if he'd always been like that. He, or she? would look at you and, in a sweet, kind, almost tender voice, speak to you to take your order.
"Good morning, darling. What can I offer you, handsome?"
With a sweet look and a more than kind and lovely voice, she addressed you.